Wednesday, 13 October 2010

Young Love's Lament

23rd June 2009, A. Palmer

Childhood sweethearts:
An expression that may induce a bath by the warm fuzz of June sun
Whilst nostrils twitch tickled by cut grass on the ground.
Or mould postcards in the mind of lovers entwined on starry nights,
Of defenseless water fights and unspoken talks
And stalled walks home the long way around.
Yet that’s what we were.
And that’s what it was.

You’d giggle to be polite and I’d peek down your top every second I was able.
We’d lock lips everywhere from abandoned extensions to rugby conventions,
Through wrought iron fences and other cities and dimensions
- Not to mention during that after-school detention for disabling the power cable.

Other times, it was simply behind your mother’s back and on the kitchen table.
Listen to this song, it reminds me of you/ us/ this time/ that time/ delete as applicable.
We were stable.

But as I write, you think I’m wrong again.
The door complains that you didn’t shut it properly,
And the man across the street watches unashamedly
As your car tries to catch up with your frustration waywardly.
When you disappear from view, his concern-cloaked curiosity switches to me, but I stare down.

I watch the ink embrace with tears
And wonder what has changed since those bygone years.
Nothing.

And that’s the problem;
I was the best thing to enter your life when I was sixteen and sauseflem.
Today, whilst my complexion is less so, our love is more burdensome:
Indeed, sweetheart, we’ve become too accustomed.
Alas, my coat summons; I’ve outstayed my welcome.